On Christmas Day In The Evening | Page 7

he held out his hand. "I'm no end grateful to
you, sir," he said, a certain attractive boyishness of manner suddenly
coming uppermost and putting to flight the dignity which was at times
a heavier weight than he could carry. "No end. Don't you remember
how it used to be, when you first went into the work, and tackled a job
now and then that seemed too big for you? Then you caught sight of a
pair of shoulders that looked to you broader than yours--the muscles
developed by years of exercise--and you were pretty thankful to shift
the load on to them? You didn't want to shirk--Heaven forbid!--but you
just felt you didn't know enough to deal with the situation. Don't you
remember?"
The old man, with a gently humorous look, glanced down at his own
thin, bent shoulders, then at the stalwart ones which towered above
him.
"You speak metaphorically, my dear lad," he said quaintly, with a
kindly twinkle in his faded blue eyes. He laid his left hand on the firm
young arm whose hand held his shrunken right. "But I do
remember--yes, yes--I remember plainly enough. And though it seems
to me now as if the strength were all with the young and vigorous in
body, it may be that I should be glad of the years that have brought me
experience."
"And tolerance," added William Sewall, pressing the hand, his eyes
held fast by Elder Blake's.

"And love," yet added the other. "Love. That's the great thing--that's the
great thing. I do love this community--these dear people. They are good
people at heart--only misled as to what is worth standing out for. I
would see them at peace. Maybe I can speak to them. God knows--I
will try."

VI
"The Fernald family alone will fill the church," observed the bachelor
son of the house, Ralph. He leaned out from his place at the tail of the
procession to look ahead down the line, where the dark figures showed
clearly against the snow. By either hand he held a child--his sister
Carolyn's oldest, his brother Edson's youngest. "So it won't matter
much if nobody else comes out. We're all here--'some in rags, and some
in tags, and some in velvet gowns'."
"I can discern the velvet gowns," conceded Edson, from his place just
in front, where his substantial figure supported his mother's frail one.
"But I fail to make out any rags. Take us by and large, we seem to put
up rather a prosperous front. I never noticed it quite so decidedly as this
year."
"There's nothing at all ostentatious about the girls' dressing, dear," said
his mother's voice in his ear. "And I noticed they all put on their
simplest clothes for to-night--as they should."
"Oh, yes," Edson chuckled. "That's precisely why they look so
prosperous. That elegant simplicity--gad!--you should see the bills that
come in for it. Jess isn't an extravagant dresser, as women go--not by a
long shot--but!" He whistled a bar or two of ragtime. "I can see myself
now, as a lad, sitting on that fence over there--" he indicated a line of
rails, half buried in snow, which outlined the borders of an old apple
orchard-- "counting the quarters in my trousers pockets, earned by hard
labour in the strawberry patch. I thought it quite a sum, but it wouldn't
have bought----"

"A box of the cigars you smoke now," interjected Ralph unexpectedly,
from behind. "Hullo--there's the church! Jolly, but the old building
looks bright, doesn't it? I didn't know oil lamps could put up such an
illumination. --And see the folks going in!"
"See them coming--from all directions." Nan, farther down the line,
clutched Sam Burnett's arm. "Oh, I knew they'd come out--I knew they
would!"
"Of course they'll come out." This was Mrs. Oliver. "Locks and bars
couldn't keep a country community at home, when there is anything
going on. But as to the feeling--that is a different matter. --Oliver, do
take my muff. I want to take off my veil. There will be no chance once
I am inside the door. Nan is walking twice as fast now as when we
started. She will have us all up the aisle before----"
"Where's Billy Sewall bolting to?" Guy sent back this stage-whisper
from the front of the procession, to Margaret, his wife, who was
walking with Father Fernald, her hand on his gallant arm. In John
Fernald's day a man always offered his arm to the lady he escorted.
"He caught sight of Mr. Blake, across the road. They're going in
together," Margaret replied. "I think Mr. Blake is to have a part in the
service."
"Old Ebenezer Blake? You don't say!" Father Fernald ejaculated in
astonishment. He had not been told of Sewall's visit to the